


For a Good Time, Call...

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Cancer, Phone Sex, That means one of the following at any given time, The Accidental Phone Sex Operator Fic, actual penatrative sex, mentions of mastectomy scars, talking about dirty talk, watching someone masturbate, yay!, yeah i know, you read that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Accidental Phone Sex Operator!Gold fic. </p>
<p>Gold is a part time phone sex operator. Belle is lonely and wants to feel wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooooooooooo, this all started as a silly thing over on Tumblr. The original post and the gifset that inspired it can be found [here](http://endangeredslug.tumblr.com/post/145279425418/prissyhalliwell-standbyyourmantis). And it spiraled from there. Prompt based, this thing isn't even close to being complete. I wrote the first several installments on my phone so they're short and... short.

It starts with a phone call. 

Belle’s thumb hovered over the green call button, ashamed at how desperate she’d become.  She had her toys and her imagination to get the job done in an emergency, but she craved human interaction, the sound of a husky voice in her ear whispering things as she worked herself towards a pinnacle of release. The ad said any fantasy fulfilled and she had a great many to work through.

And, anyway, who would know?

She pressed send and waited while the connection was made and then again for the operator to pick up and when he did, the rich accent sent shivers down her spine, straight towards that place that had been crying for attention. 

“Hello, Dearie,” he said in a low voice thick with the promise of filthy things being done to her. “How are you feeling tonight?”

* * *

Belle’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Shit! She hadn’t actually planned this far. All of her fantasies had revolved around a man’s voice talking to her as she pleasures herself, but she hadn’t thought about how to get him started.

“Dearie?” he asked again, his voice lowering into a growl that made her toes curl.

“Uh… Yes, sorry. Hey,” she said, damning the nerves that made her voice tremble. She cleared her throat, holding the phone away from her mouth.

“Hey,” the man said, at one affable and smooth again. “What’s your name, dearie?”

Oh god, she hadn’t thought! Why didn’t she research this? “Uh…” Her eyes searched the room frantically until they rested on her mother’s curtains. “Uh, it’s, I’m... Lt’s Lacey.”

The sound of creaking leather as if he was leaning back in a chair and then, “What a beautiful name for such a…” He sucked in his breath. “Such a beautiful woman.”

Belle knew it was part of his routine, that he didn’t know who she was or what she looked like, but she breathed out a nervous giggle just the same.

“You sound nervous, Lacey,” he said, letting his tongue longer on the “L”. “Is this your first time?”

This time she didn’t blame herself as she breathed out a shaky, “Yes.”

* * *

 

“In that case, Lacey, I’ll take care to be gentle with you,” he said, his voice a low purr in her ears.

She made a noise in the back of her throat, something between a squeak and a whimper and it sounded completely ridiculous, but she hurried to assure him, “No! I mean, you don’t have to-have to be gentle.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Um, what’s your name? I mean what do I call you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by prissyhalliwell: phone sex operator!gold verse: who DOES Belle want him to be?

“Um…” Belle glanced to the left searching for something to give him. Some sort of name that wasn’t her father’s or her ex-boyfriend’s, right now anything would do. Her eyes landed on a book on the nightstand and she blurted out. “Can you… Uh, do you know how to be a sorcerer?” she asked cringing at the way her voice racked and at her own stupidity. She should have figured this stuff out ahead of time. Or, better yet, never called in the first place.

There was a deep chuckle, low and guttural that sounded absolutely filthy and full of promise. Then again, maybe it was a good thing after all.

“Aye, I can be for you, Lacey,” he purred. “I can be _anything_ you want.”

“Then you’re a sorcerer. A very-a very powerful man.”

A brief pause where she heard the sound of something being put down on the other end, a drink perhaps.

“And I’m a—”

Another throaty laugh as he interrupted. “Not a princess, dearie. Or,” he paused for a moment. “Yes, maybe you are. But you don’t sound like the fainting type of princess to sit at home in her castle waiting for things to happen to you. You’ve made a run for it. You’re bold and brave and on an adventure aren’t you?”

Belle sat back against her headboard, relieved that he’d taken the lead now. Relieved that he seemed to get her even after her tentative replies. “Yes,” she breathed. “I am,” she said with more confidence.

“Well, Lacey, that’s the thing. Even brave little princesses get captured by wicked and powerful sorcerers.”

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of his voice, relaxing into her pillows. “And are you gonna capture me?”

“Lacey, I’m going to lure you to my dark castle, sitting alone high on a mountain top. You’ve heard of the great beast that lives there and you want to see him for yourself. Tame the monster behind the man…”

“I’d rather like to think I’d give the man a chance. Maybe… maybe the monster isn’t really a monster.”

“Do you like monsters, Lacey?” he asked without skipping a beat or any sign of irritation that she’d changed his story.

“I… just think that beauty is only skin deep.”

“What would you like me to do to you, Lacey? Now that you’re in my castle and at my mercy?”

“I just want to be touched,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by prissyhalliwell: phone sex operator!gold prompt: does Belle get her money's worth?

“Touch you? Lacey, I’m going to devour you. I bet you’re shivering lying naked stretched out before me on my grand dining room table there for anyone to see should they chance to walk in. I cast a spell on you, binding your feet to the edges with magic, spreading them wide. You’re helpless against me, dearie and you’re all mine.”

Belle sucked in a shaky breath. “Oh god,” she whispered, and switched the phone from one ear to another so she could snake a hand down to her underwear. They were already soaked through and he hadn’t even gotten started yet. She lightly stroked herself as he spoke in her ear.

“I start at your fingers, Lacey. Those delicate little things, grasping at thin air while tendrils of magic trace your shape. My calloused fingers are rough against your soft skin, and they trail along your collarbone, tickling your flesh until you arch into my touch…”

Belle would be astonished at how much she was getting turned on by what was essentially a first person Choose Your Own Adventure, but she ached as his voice washed over and through her, turning words into actions as if he really was magic. 

“… Your nipples are hard and pebbled and I pinch one in my fingers while laving at the other with my hot tongue.”

Her eyes flew open, her heart stuttering and tears flooding her eyes. “No. No!”

He stopped mid-sentence. “Lacey? Is everything alright?” His voice was different now, all concern and business now that the fantasy was ripped away.

She rolled over, curling up into a ball. ‘Anything but breasts, please,” she pleased, her voice choked up with tears.

“I don’t understand. Are you okay? Should I call someone?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just.. I had a mastectomy and I don’t… I don’t have nipples.”

He was silent for the briefest, most painful moments, then, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t aware—”

“No, you couldn’t have known,” she said, sitting up and dragging her fingers through her hair. It had regrown, but it wasn’t the same as before. Nothing was.

“Do you want me to continue?” he asked, tentatively and like that gone was the suave sorcerer who had her under his thrall and there was the man who was just trying to earn a living. Of course, it was just business.  He was just so good at pretending she was desirable.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go on,” she said and hung up the phone, throwing it away from her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by Anonymous: Gold accidentally calls another client "Lacey".

He stared at his phone feeling like ten kinds of shit, but how was he to know? It wasn’t part of the routine. He pressed it to his forehead, willing for her to call back and, when it rang the special tone he used for clients, he scrambled to answer, calling out in a breathless, “Lacey? Is that you?”

The voice on the other end was all wrong and if he could hear a sneer than that dubious miracle occurred at that very moment. 

“Lacey? It’s _Zelena_.“

He rolled his eyes, scrunching his face up in irritation at the sound of her voice. She’d called before and had demanded he follow a script exactly leaving no room for interpretation at all. She was awful. He checked the clock on the desk, but there was still fifteen minutes until his shift was over.  He took a deep breath and began his routine. “Of course, dearie. And how may I be of service?”

* * *

 

It was two weeks before Belle gathered the courage to a call again, but when the phone picked up, it was a completely different person.

“Ah, sorry,” she said, quickly and hung up. Then she dialed again, hoping that it would be her sorcerer’s turn in the queue. She didn’t know why she wanted to talk to him other than she felt bad for dumping her problems out on him. She should have just stuck to the fantasy. But she had pretended long enough for other people and she found that she couldn’t do it any more. And she had to talk to him at least once more.

It took three tries before she got the right person, his voice immediately recognizable even after all this time.

“It’s, uh, it’s Lacey,” she began when he answered the phone, her heart pounding in her throat. 

He breathed heavily into the receiver. “I’ve been hoping you were going to call back,” he said, his relief so evident that Belle almost believed it despite knowing that he was paid to tell her what she wanted to hear. 

“Really?

“Yes! I want to apologize—”

“No. No, don’t. You didn’t know and I kind of dumped it on you out of nowhere. I was.. I was just really feeling it and then… Anyway, I wanted to explain.”

“You called me back at five-fifty per minute just to explain?”

“Um… Yes? Well, it took a few tries until I got you, but yeah.”

“Normally I… Normally I give people a name if they want to request me again.”

“You can do that?” she asked, astonished.

He barked a short laugh. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“So… what is my sorcerer’s name?”

“You can call me Rum,” he said, his voice once more low and melting.

“It’s a good thing I like rum,” she said, smiling at the wall in front of her. She knew it was a fake name, bu so was hers and she had to call him something.

“Lacey, are you flirting with me?” he teased.

It was her turn to laugh, then. “Yes. I’m flirting. At five-fifty a minute,” she reminded him. 

He hummed in her ear sending delicious trails coursing through to her fingertips. 

“So, Lacey… what are you wearing?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by Anonymous: Phone Sex verse: What is going through Gold's mind right now? Is he rather charmed by Belle's shyness?

He knew Lacey wasn’t her real name, but neither was his real, not fully at least, but he came to really enjoy her phone calls. She challenged his repertoire from the first asking for a sorcerer instead of the one of the endless Highlander reenactments he was called upon by most of his clientele.  He liked her. She laughed at him and with him and let herself be completely overtaken by the fantasies he wove for her. The tiny sounds that she made as she worked herself to an orgasm drove his imagination and he found himself planning things to say to her while he waited for her weekly call. 

It wasn’t just phone sex. With most clients, he got started right away, diving into the act without much more than establishing his role in their fantasy, but Lacey asked him questions and made sure that he was comfortable before they got down to business. Her concern for his feelings exacerbated his concern for hers and she quickly became his favorite caller. She had been so shy at first — a lot of them were at first, and again after their first ruined call, but she opened up to him, telling him exactly what she liked done to her.

He wanted to ask her why she had resorted to phone sex when she so obviously craved physical attention, but that was a conversation he was hesitant to bring up. 

Besides, he would miss her if she stopped calling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by khaleesi-in-the-north: Belle forgets to hang up on a previous phone call before calling Gold, making it a conference call.

“Okay, papa, I’ll talk to you next week,” Belle said, flipping over onto her belly to check the clock on her nightstand. Their talk had taken longer than usual, but there was still time to call Rum, there was always time to call Rum. It would take her a bit longer to switch gears from dutiful daughter to sexy adventurer held captive at the whims of a dark sorcerer, but she was sure Rum could bring her around in no time. 

“Yeah, I love you, too,” she said, meaning every syllable of it. “Bye.” She pressed her thumb to the screen as she checked the time one more time, smiling a bit as she leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes in anticipation of his voice. 

“Hello, dearie,” he said, his voice dark and sumptuous.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“I was hoping it would be  you,” he began, but before he could say anything more, the very surprised and very unwelcome voice of her father interrupted.

“Belle! Sweetheart, I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he said. The joy in his voice would have been contagious if the situation wasn’t so horrifying. 

“Papa!” she shouted, appalled to hear his voice instead of Rum’s. She sat up, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh _shit_ I hit the wrong button,” she groaned.

At the other end of their impromptu conference call, Rum said, “Belle?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by Anonymous: Gold doesn't usually get himself off during calls, but he indulges for the first time with Belle French.
> 
> Anonymous said: On one of Belle’s calls she kind of turns the tables and starts talking about what she wants to do to Gold and he finds himself getting more than a little turned on.

It took longer than she would have liked (and at five-fifty per minute) to get her father to get off the phone, but at last she managed it, promising to call him in the morning so they could talk and uselessly explaining that she was trying to talk to her… boyfriend. She felt like she’d reached the bottom of a precarious hole and had started digging. But what else was there to do? She didn’t want to lose her connection with Rum and she certainly didn’t want to explain to her father that her boyfriend was, in fact, a phone sex operator. He’d already begun grilling him with invasive questions: What’s your name? Where do you live? How did you two meet? What do you do for a living? Nothing Rum could answer with any semblance of the truth. She was Trapped with a capital T. 

Making sure her father had really and truly broken the connection, Belle groaned into her pillow. “I am so, so sorry about that,” she said. “That was probably one of the most embarrassing things ever.”

“Could have been worse,” Rum said, the laughter in his voice self-evident to Belle’s ears and it made her feel a tiny bit better. “He could have listened in.”

“Oh, god,” she moaned, not even wanting to think about it. “Don’t.”

He was quiet for a moment and then, “Look… uh, Lacey. Do you maybe want to call me on my personal number?”

“What?” she breathed, disbelievingly.

“I was just thinking that maybe, you know, maybe you could call and we could… talk?”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh,” he said, quietly, clearly disappointed before he rallied with effort. “Yeah, right, silly. And against the rules so, um…  So, um, where were we? I had you tied up in the dungeon and feeding my co—”

“No! No, wait. I would _love_ to talk to you,’ she said, pressing her hand to her chest. “I was just surprised you made the offer.”

“Well, we’ve been doing this for six months give or take. You don’t seem like a stalker and I like you.”

She bit back a laugh at the thought that anyone would think she could be a stalker because for him, it was a very real risk. Sex work was dangerous in any form and that he trusted her enough to take this step made her tear up. “I like you too, Rum. And not just because your voice makes me want do things that I should be absolutely ashamed of.”

She was beyond embarrassed about anything she could say to him, she’d come to his voice at least once a week, sharing her dirtiest fantasies with him just so he could elaborate on them, driving her to a heated frenzy by her own hand.

“Hold that thought,” he said and gave her his number. He waited until she repeated it back before hanging up in anticipation of her call.

 She called immediately and he picked up with a breathless abandon that had her feeling giddy like a schoolgirl again.

“So, what kind of things,” he asked.

* * *

 

She took a deep breath. It was one thing to be on the receiving end of his dirty talk, but it was quite another to be the one doing the talking. Still, she had an active imagination and six months of fantasies to build upon. And he had more than earned her trust.

“You’re on the great dining room table,” she began, remembering how it had all started with her first call. “And you’re on your hands and knees. I don’t have magic, but you do everything I say because your only goal is to please me.”

She paused there, gauging his reaction. He was breathing hard and there was a slight moan when she stopped taking.

“Are you seducing me?” he asked, his voice soft with amazement.

“Is that okay?”

“Fuck. Yes! Yes. Let me just—” There was a found of a drawer sliding open and fumbling as he grabbed something out of it. “Have to get my-there it is.”

“What did you get, Rum?”

“Bottle of lotion.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet.”

“I wanna hear it when you unzip your jeans.”

“Like, hold the phone up to my zipper?”

“Sure. Let me know when you’re hard.”

“Pretty fucking close to,” he groaned and Belle smiled into her pillow. The power made her feel nearly giddy and she would have giggle except there was that mental image of him stroking himself that she wanted to complete.

“Hands and knees, Rum and your thighs are quivering with the effort from keeping still. I spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tiny asshole to me.”

More heavy breathing and the sound of a bottle cap being flipped open.

“I lick you there. Running circles around your tight hole and down over you hanging balls until you’re rocking back and forth, trying to impale yourself onto my tongue.”

“Jesus, Lacey, I’m so fucking hard,” he bit out. “Let me unzip.”

“You wanna take your cock out now?”

“Fuck, yes!”

“I bet you’d like me to suck it wouldn’t you? Crawl up underneath you and let you fuck my mouth with your big—”

“Please, Lacey!” he begged.

“Unzip, Rum. Let me hear it. But don’t start jerking off until I say.”

She closed her eyes as she heard the soft metallic “zzzzzzppp” and then a broken groan as he pulled himself out.

“I bet you’re hard as a rock. I bet you’re already dripping aren’t you?” she said, reaching down between her legs, working her fingers inside her as she listened to his strained and uneven breath.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I’ve already got four fingers inside my pussy, Rum. That’s what thinking of you does to me. I need more, though. I need something long and thick and hard. I want you to fuck me in every hole and I want you to clean me out with your tongue until I’m squeaky clean again. Every drop.”

“Fuck! L-lacey! I need to come.”

“Count for me, Rum. Every stroke you take I wanna know about it.”

“Fu- One. Two. Threefourfive-fuck! S-six—”

“You sound so sexy when you masturbate. If I was there I’d wrap my mouth around your cock no suck you dry…”

“Nineteneleven—”

“Lick you until you burst inside me.”

“Th-thirteen! Shit! Fuck!”

“Are you gonna come for me, Rum? Are you ready? I am, I’m so fucking ready. I want you to come with me.”

There was a long, guttural moan in her ear, almost painful sounding, then he was cursing to himself over and over in between gasping for breath. Belle pumped her fingers a few more times listening to the aftermath of his orgasm before she allowed herself to come, moaning his name as she rode it out.

They were quiet as they caught their breath then, once she was able to speak again, she grabbed for the phone and held it up, keeping her sticky fingers away from the screen.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, still out of breath, but recovering nicely.

Belle wondered what his turn around time was or if he was done for a couple of hours. Maybe some day she’s ask.

“Yeah, I’m here, Lacey.”

“I think… I think it’s okay if you call me Belle.”

“Belle. Beautiful.”

She squirmed uncomfortably. She hadn’t felt beautiful in a long time, but she didn’t want to quibble and lose the mood.

“My name is Ron.”

Ron. Very close to Rum. Close enough that slipping into the roll would be an easy thing perhaps.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ron.”

He chuckled, that low and deep resonance that had her reaching down between her legs again.

“The pleasure,” he said. “Is all mine.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by Anonymous: Could you possibly make them meet? And if not, can you do orgasm delay? And have him be the one telling her exactly what to do?

“And then, after all the time trying to locate the book, it turned out the guy had it shoved down his pants the entire time. Who does that?”  
  
“You’re kidding.”  
  
“But he didn’t realize that all the books have securityy chips in their bar code stickers so he set the alarm off when he tried to leave.”  
  
“They do?”  
  
“Most libraries started lojacking their books years ago,” she explained. “So we had to get one of the janitors to come and search him since all the librarians are women and he refused to just give it up.”  
  
“Was he hoping for a strip search?”  
  
“If he was then he must have been sorely disappointed when Leroy showed up.”  
  
He laughed and there was the clattering sound of a glass being set on a hard surface. “I know I’d be upset too if I was expecting a beautiful woman to manhandle me and got someone named Leroy instead.”  
  
“Leroy’s not bad, but he’s a bit surly. Always kinda grumbly until you get to know him. Then he’s basically a big teddy bear. Well, a short teddy bear.”  
  
He was quiet for a moment then, “Do, uh, short men bother you?“  
  
“Bother? No? If anything it’s tall men, I mean really tall because I’m barely five two and I hate feeling dwarfed like that…” She trailed off wondering if he was a giant now and she’d just inadvertently insulted him. “Um, of course, that’s not, you know, a deal breaker or anything. I mean, if I _liked_ a tall man and he was kind and he didn’t try to throw me over his shoulders all the time like some people do because they can and want to show off then, yeah, I’m all for it. Uh, how tall are you?” She was babbling. She was babbling and making a mess of things and he was probably thinking of “accidentally” hanging up on her since they were talking on their personal phones and no one was getting paid anything.  
  
“I’m between five six-five seven,” he said.  
  
“Oh. That’s-that’s a really good height.”  
  
“Is it? I’ve been taught to think that’s it’s on the wee side of the spectrum.”  
  
“Well, maybe for some people, but, you know, I’m five two almost and, to me, five six or seven is pretty tall.”  
  
“Not… too tall?”  
  
“No, I’d, uh, say it’s just right.”

They were silent and Belle looked out the window at her neighbors who were just leaving, their arms full of blankets and bags and a picnic basket and babies. It looked nice. Cozy. Sweet. Domestic.

She reminded herself that she was happy in her career and that she had been very lucky so far. She’d beaten an illness against very dire odds and had come through, a little bit scarred and a little bit broken, but she’d made it. She was strong.

But she was also lonely.

“Are you there, Belle?” He asked, sounding concerned.

Ever since they had stopped their business relationship — if you could even call it that — they’d begun sharing details of their lives with each other. Things that seemed more intimate than the sexual fantasies she’d indulged in before, which felt backwards to her, but right, too. He knew all the dirty secret things before he even knew her real name, but there was no judgement in his voice at all. He listened and soothed and made her laugh and then, when the mood struck, he spoke of doing things to her that made her blush with delicious shame afterwards.

Belle offered to call him at his business number when their conversations became heated, but he refused. Didn’t want to hang up and lose the mood he said, but Belle suspected that he didn’t like taking money from her now that he knew who she was.

“Yeah, I’m here. I was just thinking,” she said. The family had made it down their front steps and were walking towards the small park up the street. They seemed happy.

“What about,” he said, his voice switching from concerned friend to sexy beast immediately.

She blinked, forcing her attention back to Ron. “Um, no. I mean I’ve been thinking about something I’ve been discussing with my therapist.”

She rarely talked about her sessions with Ron, but then, she never discussed Ron with her therapist so she figured that he was ahead in that department.

“What about?” he asked again, once more speaking in his regular voice.

“About covering up my scars. It’s something I’ve been considering for a few years now.”  She broke off, biting her lip when the tight, stinging started up in her chest just underneath the scars. It was psychosomatic, her therapist said and one of the reasons why she didn’t like to talk about about the cancer, or her operations or any of the treatments she’d received. Ron had stayed clear of the entire subject once he understood that it made her uncomfortable and Belle appreciated it, but sometimes, she wanted to let him make her feel good about it, too. It was something she’d been working on with her therapist after her fiancé broke up with her - her need to feel desirable again. It was one of the reasons why she’d called the phone sex line in the first place, it was easier to pretend that way… until it wasn’t, but now she didn’t want to pretend anymore. She wanted to believe.

“Cover them up how?”

“I, ah, there’s this guy who does tattoos. Well, I mean he does tattoos for everyone, but he also does them for, um, breast cancer survivors.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of people doing that,” he said. “I’ve seen some lovely work done.”

“You have?”

“Pictures. Not-not in _person_.”

“Oh.” She blew her cheeks out until she looked like a puffer fish. There was no getting away from this conversation and she was very grateful that he wasn’t asking the million questions he was probably thinking. She let the air out slowly, counting down from ten until it was all gone and it didn’t feel like there were bees buzzing in her chest anymore.

“So you’re getting all tatted up?”

“I’m thinking about it. I have a consultation at The Mad Hatters and, uh, discuss it. Go over ideas I guess.”

“Jefferson’s place?” he asked, surprised.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, that’s, ah, it’s about three blocks away from my apartment.”

* * *

 

“Belle, are you there?” he asked when she was quiet for too long.

“Yeah!” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t know you were that close.” A smile spread out on her face. She’d know by his area code that he wasn’t far, but they had deliberately stayed away from disclosing their cities or last names. It seemed safer not knowing. Not because she feared for her life, but because she would be worried she would run into him at any time.

“You didn’t reverse look up my number?” he teased.

“No. I thought about it, but I didn’t want to invade your privacy. What about you? Did you do any internet sleuthing?”

“No. I have been going to the library more often though. Just in case. Broaden my horizons through literature kind of thing.”

“Have you?” she asked, pleased. “Not my library obviously.”

“No, now that I think about it, none of the librarians were wee Australians.”

She ducked her chin, hiding a goofy smile from the print of goldfinches she had on the wall. “And, uh, so far, none of my patrons have been sexy Scottish men. I’m sure I’d have noticed.” She would have dragged him to the back and mounted him like a pony. Well, in her fantasies she would. In real life she would have blushed hopelessly and hid underneath her desk.

There was a shaky, nervous kind of laughter. “Yeah, um… Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just… I don’t think I would match that description.” There was the sound of breath blowing over the phone’s microphone as if he just did the blowfish-count-to-ten trick, too.

“Are you afraid that I might not like the way you look?” she asked, sounding out the words slowly. The idea that he was just as anxious as she was had never occurred to her. It didn’t even cross her mind. He always sounded so confident, so self-assured.

He was silent for a long time before he cleared his throat and spoke so quietly that she had to turn the volume up on her phone.

“Um, I don’t think you’d care so much as be… disappointed,” he said, finally.

“I doubt I could ever be disappointed with you,” she told him. “And looks don’t really matter to me. Besides,” she said, fiercely. “I could look like a squashed frog for all you know.”

He laughed. “A squashed frog?”

“Well… it was the first thing that came to mind.” She swallowed and willed the sudden bout of nerves away. One of them had to say it and she didn’t want to be the one to do it. She suspected he was feeling the same way.

“Um,” he began, then stopped.

“Flip a coin?” she said, searching any solution no matter how silly.

“What?”

“Heads I ask, tails you do it?”

“Hang on, I got a quarter in my pocket,” he said. “Okay,” he said, after a moment. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. And waited.

“…It’s tails.”

“Tails. You do it,” she urged.

He took a deep breath and Belle counted to ten before he spoke again.

“Do you wanna meet?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Yes,” she breathed, suddenly calm now that they’d jumped that hurdle. “I would really like that.”

“When do you go for your consultation?” he asked.

“Two Saturdays from now. The eighteenth. I have a friend coming with me. Moral support, you know?” She was still unsure about the tattoo and she was absolutely terrified of showing her scar to a stranger. No one besides her oncologist and her nurses had ever seen it. She would need a lot of hand holding to get through the day even if she didn’t lift the hem of her shirt.

“That’s good. Good. Good,” he said quickly. “Ah… did you… two want to meet the same day then?”  
  


“I don’t know. I might be too worried about the consultation to be good company if we meet before and I might be too wrecked from it if we meet afterwards. And I might be too nervous about meeting you to pay attention to Jefferson when we’re talking and then freaking out about that when I realized I missed half of what he said.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Why was she making this more difficult?

“I know Jefferson, you’ll be fine. He’s… well, he’s a bit eccentric, but he’s a good person. He’ll put you at ease.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hear. He came highly recommended.”

“So, I have an idea and I was wondering if you were open to it. I mean, you don’t have to, and, if it’s any help, I’m fucking sweating right now even thinking about it, but it might…help? It might help both of us I mean.”

“What is it?”

“How would you feel about Facetiming?”

“Oh. Yeah that would be easier,” she said, wondering why they hadn’t done it before. She’d looked at the button every time she dialed him and there was certainly the temptation to press it, but she never had, nor had she brought it up to him. They’d talked for so long that calling him became almost automatic now.

“Call you back?” he said.

“Now?”

“Better get it over with before I chicken out.”

She scrambled out of her chair and ran to her mirror. No makeup on and her hair was a mess. “Uhhh… I’m not really presentable right now.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Are you dressed?”

“She looked down at the spiderman shirt she was swearing. “Mostly? Are you?”

“Yes, of course. Mostly,” he said and there was that dangerous teasing again.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath as she sat back down. “Let’s do it.”

“Call you in a minute,” he said and broke the connection.

It was a long minute and Belle sat, perched on the edge of her chair waiting and when the phone rang that weird Facetime ring, she hit the button before she could change her mind.

The screen went black and then there was Ron in front of her eyes, smiling nervously at her.

“Oh god, you’re gorgeous,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.


	10. Chapter 10

He was _incredible_. He was older than she was expecting, with longer hair than she imagined, but his eyes were almost exactly how she thought they would look with brown eyes and wrinkles in the corners from laughing. His nose was thin and long and crooked and hung over expressive that were quirked up in a soft smile as he blinked at her.

“That’s what I was gonna say,” he whispered, a blush beginning to form on his long neck and Belle might have thought he was just saying that to be nice, but his jaw had gone slack when Facetime kicked in and there was a look of intensity in his eyes that burned right through her.

“What? No, I’m—”

“Gorgeous,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “I might not have suggested this if I knew that.”

It was Belle’s turn to blush, but she bravely stared at him, memorizing his features for the next time they turned one of their talks into something more… frolicsome.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, narrowing his eyes are her.

“Um.. I was thinking that… I’m not sure I can say it actually.”

“Facetime kind of takes the mystery away doesn’t it.”

“No, I mean, it’s different now that I‘m actually looking at you and I’m not sure why you were nervous.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a wry smile. “Probably the same reason you were nervous. And, as you can see, I’m quite a bit older.”

“Yeah, but, that’s not a deal breaker. I mean I don’t find that… off-putting,” she said awkwardly. “And for all I know you don’t like twenty-somethings.”

He wiped at his nose with the back of a finger, then dropped his hand into his lap self consciously. “I like intelligent women who read a lot and have dirty fantasies that they like to share with anonymous men over the phone.”

“That’s very specific,” Belle said, with a short little laugh as he winked at her..

He nodded, tilting his head to the side and looked thoughtfully to his right. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I’ve only met one person that fits this description.”

“Who is she? I’ll have to leave a stink bomb on her doorstep,” she teased, grinning at him.

His eyes roamed over her face. “Well, she’s short with brown hair and stunning blue eyes and an accent you wouldn’t soon forget.”

She opened her mouth when another call came through, abruptly dropping the Facetime connection. The icon showed her father, his ruddy cheeks spread in a wide smile as he stared at the camera.

She groaned as she answered it — it seemed like her father had a personal vendetta against her talking to another male of the species — and it took her ten minutes before she was able to breakaway again. She ended the call, making extra sure that she had well and truly hung up the phone before she called Ron back.

“Sorry, that was my dad,” she said when he picked up the phone.

“No problem, Belle,” he said. “Everything okay back home?”

She brushed aside a lock of hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear. “Yeah. He’s fine. Just… Okay, he keeps talking about the guy on the phone…”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that he has a face that I’d love to sit on.”

He sputtered in her ear. “You did not.”

“No, I didn’t,” she told him reluctantly. “But I wanted to.”

“You wanted to tell him that?” he asked, and for a heart-stopping moment Belle almost just said yes, but she was feeling brave again now that they were only on the phone and Facetime was over.

“No, I wanted to sit on your face.”

The line went silent and Belle thought they’d lost the connection again, but before she could redial, he spoke in a raw, broken voice, “Belle, do you trust me?”

That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear and she frowned at the question. “Yes, of course.”

Another long silence and then, “Good. I um… I want you to do something for me.”

Oh. Yes! She got up and began to move towards her bed in anticipation of another amazing phone sex session. “Yeah,” she asked, already going through several different scenarios to play with and this time she had a face to put to her mystery man. She sat down on her bed, scooting back towards the headboard. “What is it?”

“Belle,” he said, a little breathless and unsure. “I want you to take off your shirt.”

* * *

 

It felt like her lungs were slowly filling up with sea water. They burned and ached and she clutched at her chest as she gasped out, “W-what? M-my shirt? Why?”

“I’m sorry, I know. That was… that was abrupt.” He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

The buzzing feeling was back as she hiccuped back a sob. “Why would you even ask?” she whispered, hurt and betrayed.

“Because I want to touch you.”

“There?” She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head.

“Everywhere, Belle. I want to touch you everywhere. even there.”

“I’m not taking it off.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t know. The last time—” Another hiccup. “The last time someone saw me… Ron, did I ever tell you I was engaged?”

“No,” he said quietly. “No, you didn’t.”

“We were going to be married in June. Very… very traditional, you know? But I got sick in February and I put the wedding off. He said he’d stand by me.” She sniffled, wiping her nose with the hem of her shirt.

“Did he?”

She shrugged, staring at her feet stretched out at the other end of the bed. “At first. He was with me during my first doctor’s appointments, took all these notes and asked good questions…Then, I um, decided to go through with the mastectomy. Double. My mom died of breast cancer and I just didn’t want to take the chance of it recurring. And then… I didn’t want reconstructive surgery.”

“He left you,” he asked, his voice sounded like he wanted to ring her ex-fiancé’s neck. There was a time in her life when she would have liked that, but now thinking about him made her tired.

“He left me. Couldn’t even look at the scars, could barely look at me. Then I started chemo and radiation… and he was gone.”

“He sounds… tall,” he muttered.

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, he was very tall.” She traced a nonexistent pattern on her comforter with a fingertip. “Tall and stupid,” she added.

“Well… I’m short. And he sucks.”

She snorted, then flopped over onto her side in a peek of laughter that was as sudden as it was unexpected.

“Thank god you’re laughing,” he said, relieved.

“It’s laugh or cry and I am sick of crying,” she told him as she curled up on her side.

“I didn’t want to make you cry, Belle. I’m sorry. But, I’d like you to think about it.”

“I don’t take my shirt off in front of anyone.”

“How will you get a tattoo of you don’t take your shirt off?” Be asked, pointing out the obvious.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” she said. “And I’m not sure if I’m getting one or not.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Will you touch yourself under your shirt?”

She stilled. “Is this some weird fetish for you?”

“No. Unless wanting to make you feel good is a fetish.”

“I… I don’t know why you want that.”

“It’s simple. You make the most delicious sounds when you come. I don’t normally get of on my calls,” he said. “But I’ve nearly rubbed my cock raw listening to you these past several months.”

“You’re very good at it. Your job,” she clarified.

“I try to be,” he told her. “And I want you.”

“You want me to what?” she whispered, feeling the pinpricks of tears behind her eyes. She tried blinking them away to no avail.

“I want… you.”

The flood of tears that threatened to come burst out in a honking, snotty, loud mess that should have scared Ron away, but he sat through it all, crooning softly into her ear as she wept into her blanket.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by annythecat: I love the new verse! Wanted to ask if Ron (is that his full name?) has any ink done himself? Or he knows Jefferson from somewhere else?

“Mmm you taste so good, lass. Like the blossoming heather on the heath. I lick my fingers and suck all your dew off of it, groaning at the taste…” Ron spoke on autopilot to his customer who was moaning loudly into the phone. He barely even heard it, his mind was on Belle and everything she’d told him the week before.

He felt like an ass, pushing her like that. He should have kept his mouth shut, or, at the very least, dirty talked her into a screaming orgasm. She would have been receptive to that and lord knows he loved it when that happened.

“That’s it, lass, come for your Highlander. I want to drink up the sweet honey off your sticky fingers.”

The moans grew louder, obnoxious and brash against his ear and he knew he was giving subpar work, not that there were any standards in his line of work, but he took a little pride in how easy he could peg a client’s desires and turn them into a mass of goo within minutes and only by using the sound of his voice.

“There now, that’s a wee bit better, yeah? Och, aye, your limp body lying on top of my plaid covered in sweat and naked ‘neath the warm sun.

He rolled his eyes at the clichéd words. He didn’t have a plaid. He never had a plaid. He was from Glasgow for fuck’s sake, but none of these Americans could tell the difference. They just heard the accent and expected him to go full Highlander on them. Idiots.

He’d much rather be a sorcerer any day.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh yeah!”

He winced, holding the phone away from his ear as the woman did nothing but repeat the same thing over and over again in a high-pitched whine that grated against his ear drums. They sounded fake, too, which was annoying. Whatever, he was still getting paid.

He wiped his brow with his hand, pulling the fringe of his hair back in frustration. He needed a new job.

He shouldn’t have pushed Belle. She had a therapist and friends and family and she was taking charge of her demons and then he’d selfishly inserted himself as the worst demon of all.

Well, second worst, he thought when he remembered her candy ass ex-fiancé.

He blew it. She would have told him when she was ready to take that step.

“Oh yeah!”

“Harder, lass.”

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

God would she never come, he wondered.

“Yeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh oooooooohgodohgodohgod!”

There we go, he thought, sighing with relief. A bit more sweet talk with the maximum allowable Scottish slang thrown in for authenticity and then the woman finally hung up, thanking him of all things.

Shit.

* * *

 

  
The next day found him outside The Mad Hatters, squatting on his heels outside the doorway as he waited for Jefferson to open up. He flipped his phone back and forth between his hands, debating texting Belle again or if that would be considered harassment. Their phone calls had tapered off in the past week. When he’d given her his personal number she’d initially kept to the once a week call schedule, but the calls gradually came closer together. She’d call a day early, or he saw something that he wanted to tell her about and picked p the phone to call her. Before he realized it, talking to Belle had become a part of his daily routine and he’d suddenly realized, after not hearing from her for two days, that he had a hard time sleeping if he hadn’t spoken to her.

Just a short text.

“Hey. Beautiful day outside. Hope you’re enjoying the weather.”

He glared at it, willing for the letters to magically rearrange themselves into something better, but just then, Jefferson came sauntering around the corner, hands in his pockets and a toothpick in his mouth and looking as if he’d stepped out of some motorcycle steampunk postapocalyptic movie.

He saw Ron waiting for him and a slow smile spread across his face. “Hey, Gold. Came to get more work done?”

“Thinking about it,” he said, flashing him a brief smile before following the man into the shop.   
Jefferson flipped the lights on and shrugged out of his heavy, leather duster, hanging it up on a large industrial hook he’d dug out of some metal like somewhere.

“What were you thinking then? Your phone number with the words “For A Good Time Call” underneath.

“Maybe if I could trust you’d spell it right,” Ron said, sitting down on the couch, pulling a portfolio emblazoned with a pink ribbon on top of it towards him. He opened it at a random page, then flipped the pages back to the beginning. The faces were hidden, but their work was all displayed in closeup.

“Hey, fuck you. My work is perfect,” Jefferson shot back, but there was no real bite to the words.

“Yeah,” Ron said, absently as he turned another page.

Jefferson noticed his quietness and the photo book he was going through. “Got any questions, man?”

Billions, but it wasn’t his place to ask. “Mmm.” He looked up, forehead wrinkled in thought. “Have a friend who was considering getting work done. She’s, ah… A bit self-conscious about it. ”

Jefferson’s eyebrows shot up. “That so. Didn’t know you had friends.” He smirked as he turned away, setting up his station. “I have an appointment in a few minutes. Want to man the phones? I’ll talk to you about it if you want,” he said nodding his chin at the book in Ron’s lap.

Ron was good on the phone and sometimes helped out when things were busy. His accent intrigued the customers and they liked to flirt. With Ron answering the phone, bookings went up ten percent.

Ron stared at his hands for a bit before shrugging. “Sure.”


	12. Chapter 12

Belle stared at Ron’s number. It had been days since she heard his voice and she wanted to talk to him. She missed him terribly.  It went beyond the sex, such as it was. Talking to him become part of her daily life and she missed the sound of his voice. But he’d asked too much of her. There was no way she was ready for taking off her shirt, not even over the phone. She didn’t even know if she could get through her tattoo consultation without running out in hysterics. It was something she had been working on for months with her therapist and Ron knew it. How could he think she would be even remotely okay with it?

She hated it. Hated feeling afraid of her own body. Hated hating her own body and for a thing she had no control over. When her ex-fiancé dumped her for refusing to get reconstruction surgery, it had done a number on her head. He was supposed to love and cherish her and want her no matter what shape she had.

The only thing she could be grateful for was the fact that they hadn’t actually gotten married yet. An elopement during her chemo had been talked about after her initial doctors’ appointments, but ultimately decided against. Belle now understood that she’d dodged more than one bullet during that scary year. Her cancer and Gary’s assholery were both periods in her life that she’d suffered through and come out on the other side clean and…well, not quite whole, but she survived them both. She could do anything.

Except that. She didn’t know why Ron was so invested in her, she was only the woman who called him for phone sex, not his girlfriend or even his friend friend. Well, they’d become friends now, but she’d been fooled by false sincerity before and she didn’t want to be duped again. Everything in her screamed to trust him. She wanted to, honestly, but she didn’t know how. She’d already bared herself to him more than she had anyone, even her therapist, for there was no way she could tell her shrink about her sexual fantasies. The most she’d managed to say during therapy was that she was feeling lonely and that she wanted physical touch. Normal, sane, PG rated things to talk about in between sessions on her self-esteem.

Ron, in the short time she’d known him, had managed to worm his way in between her defenses and… and rooted. He was just there, stuck firm and almost impossible to get out. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted him in her life or if she was just so lonely she would take literally anything rather feel so alone. She’d never even met him in real life and the prospect terrified her even as she longed to see him in person with every inch of her being. Her head felt full with the either / or situation and, as the date for her consultation crept closer, she began to feel her anxiety gro and hated that most of all. She didn’t think she could go through with it.

She used to be so brave, so sure of herself and confident. What happened? A disease and an asshole boyfriend should not have brought her so low. She wanted that bravery back, even if she was just faking it for a while.

God, her therapist had been saying that for years, why did she have to pick now to go through with it?

Ron wasn’t a solution to her problem, but he could, perhaps, help her along the way. She knew he would and gladly and he would probably not hurt her in the process.

She stared at his contact info until her vision blurred then she pressed send, bother hoping and dreading for him to pick up. Hope won out and he answered before she even heard the phone ring on the other side. He must  have had it in his hand. Maybe he was thinking of calling her? Nevermind.

“Belle, hey!” he said, not even trying to sound casual and his eagerness to talk to her made her feel minutely better about things.

“Hey yourself. I, uh, was thinking about you,” she began carefully.

“Anything good?”

“I think so? I would like to try an experiment.”

“What kind?”

She took a deep, blowfish breath, tucking her hand up under the hem of her shirt, stroking along the soft skin of her belly with her thumb. “I’ve got my hand under my shirt.”

* * *

 

Gone was the instinct to lower his voice and broaden his accent, both things that were practically guaranteed to bring a woman to a swift and powerful orgasm within minutes given how horny they were when they called him. Words failed him completely when she told him she had her hand under her shirt and the silence hung between them, heavy and scary and he didn’t want to fuck it up again.

“Are you there?” she asked, her voice coming in a vulnerable whisper.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m here,” he said, quickly. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“ _You’re_ overwhelmed?”

Shit. He managed to make it all about him. Fucked it up under three seconds. That had to be a new record. He hit the side of his head as hard as he could with his fist. The pain was too dull, not enough, so he did it again, harder again and again until spots appeared. 

“Just, I mean, I’m overwhelmed that you trust me this much. I didn’t think you wanted me to… I mean. I hoped you, uh… Are you sure?”

She was silent for a long moment and Gold wondered if she broke the connection, but he heard a sniffle on the other end, twisting his heart even more.

“Belle? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice firm and sure even if it did sound thick to his ears and a bit wobblier than he’d like to hear. “And my hand is still under my shirt.”

He let out a shaky sigh of his own, letting his breath blow over the microphone. Probably sounded like a hurricane on her end.

“Where under your shirt?” he breathed, softer this time.

“Uh, under the hem. On my stomach. Just, ah, just below my belly button.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back, imagining what that looked like. Her skin would be soft and warm and squishy and covered with downy hairs too faint to see unless the light hit her at just the right angle. His face would have to be wedged between her legs to see them — a place he’d very much like to be at the moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “How far are you willing to go?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m already pretty anxious right here.”

He licked his lips, trying to think. “How do you wash yourself?”

“Uh, just I wash myself? I have a washcloth…”

“Beautiful Belle all wet in the shower…”

“M’not beautiful,” she mumbled. “And it’s just washing.”

“You are beautiful and do you ever masturbate when you wash yourself?”

He grinned at the sound of her sharp inhale. That was a sound he knew intimately, when she let go of the day’s stress and let herself be talked into a night’s pleasure.

“Sometimes,” she told him. “I have a detachable shower head.”

“Do you now? How do you use it? Do you let the spray hit you?”

“Yeah. I put it on, um, pulse and… And I let it hit my clit.”

He groaned at as the mental picture started to become clear: Belle, wet and shimmering with her legs spread wide and the shower head blasting onto her most vulnerable place. He began to harden as he imagined her with her head thrown back as she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

“You like it rough there? Like having your clit sucked on? Like teeth maybe? Nipping at you while your lovers lick and suck at you?”

A soft whimper then a breathy, “yes.”

“Do you fuck yourself while you’ve got the shower head on you?”

“No, I… It’s all I can do to keep the shower on me when I use it. It’s hard to keep still sometimes.”

“I bet you’d like a pair of strong arms to hold it for you. Someone to help you hold it against your throbbing clit and swallow down those beautiful screams. Someone to kneel at your feet to drink down the water as it rolls off you…”

“Yes,” she sighed into the phone.

“Where’s your hand, Belle?”

“Hmmm? Oh, um, it’s still on my stomach,” she said, distracted at the sudden turn of conversation.

He licked his lips. “And your other hand?” he asked, already knowing the answer by her tiny, sharp breaths coming through the phone.

“It’s in my underwear,” she confessed after a long moment.

Fuck, yeah! He straightened his legs out, adjusting his pants with his free hand to keep the zipper from cutting his hardening dick in half. 

“Are you rubbing yourself?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Mm.”

“Hard enough to come?”

“N-not yet. I’ve… I just put a f-finger inside me.”

“I bet your fucking wet. I’d love to suck your sticky fingers off. I bet you taste fucking delicious. My mouth is watering just thinking of it. Put in another one. Let me hear you, Sweetheart.”

Another soft whimper in his ear and he heard the slick sound of her fingers over her breathy moans as they pumped inside her. Thank fuck for speaker phones.

“Pinch your clit for me,” he demanded, bringing her attention back to him. “How hard do you like it? How rough, Belle?”

“I’ve-I’ve used a clothespin before,” she told him, her voice shaky and coming in gasps.

Jesus! He stared at the phone for half a second then held it back to his ear. “You like teeth? Anyone ever bite you?”

“Nuh uh. He didn’t like to do that for me.”

“Who? Your useless _ex_ -fiancé? He didn’t eat out your glorious pussy? Didn’t bury his tongue inside you, licking out every fucking drop he could get? What a useless limp fucknugget. Who _wouldn’t_ want to lay between your thighs until their fucking face pruned? I bet he fucking begged you to swallow his shitty cock though, the shitty bastard.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration — with himself for getting off topic and her ex for being a massive dick weasel.

She snickered though despite the slight detour. “I used my shower the most after he went home,” she confessed. “Got off better.”

“That fucking lousy, huh?”

“The worst,” she said with a bitter groan. “I get off better with you talking to me than I ever did with him, how fucked up is that?”

“It’s entirely, one hundred percent fucked up, Belle. He didn’t fucking deserve you.” He rolled over onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of her having to jump through hoops just to have an orgasm. Showerheads, clothespins, anonymous phone sex… none of it was bad, but she deserved more than that. More than what he was giving her now. “If I was there, Sweetheart, I’d lick you all over. I wouldn’t stop until you were a quivering bundle of nerves so worn out that you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak, dammit.”

“You-you sound angry.”

“No, darling, I’m frustrated because I want you to come. I want you to fuck yourself until you come and I want you to imagine it’s me, can you do that?”

“Mmmhmm. God, yes!” she gasped. “I do that already.”

“Fuck, Belle,” he groaned, starting to rock his hips, the painful straining of his cock against the seam of his jeans hurt, but it was a good hurt. He didn’t want to move, not even to take it out and fuck his hand. Not while Belle was waiting.  “You do?”

“Since the first t-time-oh god!” she wailed and she screamed as she went over the edge while he talked her through it, trying to prolong the experience for her, his voice a low, dirty thing whispering in her ear as she gasped and moaned on the other end.

The sound of her shivering cries nearly drove him over with her without even touching himself and wasn’t that a fucking first? But he bit his lip raw until the urge passed, his concentration solely on her tonight. He could beat off later after they hung up. Tonight was all about her.

Her gasps were slower and softer now and he crooned to her. “Sweetheart?”

“Hmmm?” she replied, languidly.

“Where’s your hand now?”

There was a half a second where he only heard the soft gusts of her breathing, then a low, “It’s still in me.”

“And your _other_ one?”

“I… It’s on my stomach.”

“Go higher.”

She was quiet, and Gold thought he’d pushed her too far when she spoke again. “Okay, it’s… it’s on my, uh, chest.”

He let out a sigh of relief then rolled onto his back again, pulling at the crotch of his jeans to get the pressure off his still straining cock. That would soon go back down again though he’d have to take care of it later on. Maybe as soon as they hung up depending on how things went. He hoped they went well for her sake more than his ridiculous hard on.

“That’s good, Sweetheart. You’re beautiful, you know that right?”

“Um…”

“No, it’s true. I’ve seen you remember? Your beautiful blushing face right here on my phone. I haven’t been able to stop seeing your gorgeous smile since. It’s like it’s burned into my retinas. Everytime I blink you’re there in front of me.”

“You don’t have to say that,” she said, her voice wobbling a bit at the end.

“I know I don’t, Belle. I don’t have to say anything to you. But I want to. I want to tell you these things because you need to know it.”

“Why?” she breathed.

“Because… I just… this thing we’ve got between us? It’s the most real relationship I’ve had in years, maybe ever. And I haven’t even fucking met you, you know? I want to spend time with you even it it’s just this. Just us talking over the phone or writing letters or some shit. You’re… so fucking incredible and I—” he paused, licking his dry lips suddenly aware that he was probably overwhelming her with everything all at once. He should probably tone it down a bit before he scared her off completely.

“I really _like_ you, Belle. A lot. And I want you to touch your breast.”

“There isn’t much there,” she warned him, but her voice wasn’t as anxious as it was when she called him. Not as tight, not as pained. The phone sex had loosened her up a bit, made her relax until he could talk her through this.

Who knew his stupid job would come in handy this way? Not he. Not like he was going to put it on a resume anytime soon: good at making post mastectomy patients feel good via orgasms. He doubt anyone was hiring for that anyway.

He waiting a moment, just a few thumping heartbeats that felt like there was a tiny boxer doing reps in his chest. Why was he so fucking nervous about this? “What does it feel like?”

Another pause as she considered it. Maybe she’d never thought about it before. Maybe the words didn’t exist yet.

“It feels like… a relief map,” she told him in a small voice. “You know like the kind at school? Hills and valleys and plains?”

He let out a breath, slowly, softly. “Yeah, I know the ones. What side are you on?”

“M-my left. There’s a bit more, uh, tissue left there. I have an underboob. Sort of,” she said with a nervous, brittle laugh.

“There isn’t any part of you that isn’t fucking gorgeous, Belle. Close your eyes, now. Don’t look at what you’re doing and tell me.”

Her breathing was sharper now, but she didn’t stop as he’d feared she would. She was brave and strong and beautiful and didn’t deserve someone as shitty as him to tell her what to do — she had loads of friends and a therapist to help her with her body images — but none of them had. Or maybe they tried and went about it the wrong way. They hadn’t sent her spiraling into a quivering mass of post orgasmic bliss to get her there. Maybe she just needed a shitty friend to demand these things from her.

“Well, it’s tight. You know how scars are? They can be kind of tight and shiny? And wide. And around that it’s all… puckered because…” she broke off with a small sniff. “They had to-to take out a lot. I told them in pre-op to just take everything. I didn’t want it to come back.”

That sounded absolutely reasonable to him. He would have done the same probably. But he kept silent. Belle didn’t need his approval.

“What about your right side?” he asked, gently.

“Flatter. Bumpier. Still a big scar, but they took more so it… um… it uh, curves in at the side where they took some from under my arm. It’s not a pretty sight,” she whispered.

He could just picture imagine her now. Her body scared, but perfect even with the wounds it had suffered. There was nothing disgusting about her and he wanted to punch her ex in the face for doing more damage than any scalpel had inflicted on her. 

“You’re a fucking miracle, Belle,” he told her, wincing at the way his voice cracked.

“Huh?”

“What do your fingers taste like?”

“My wha- my fingers?”

“The ones in your pussy,” he said.

There was the sound of some rustling and then, after a moment, she said simply. “They taste like me.”

He bit his lip some more, turning his head to groan into his pillow. He wished he was there to lick them off for her; to kiss every part of her, scars and all. He meant it everything he’d told her. Everything.

“I’m sorry he was an asshole, Belle. But I’m fucking glad you didn’t marry him.” If she’d have married that worthless shithead she never would have called his line and he could imagine a lot — made a living from it in fact — but he couldn’t imagine his life without her anymore.

“Yeah,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Me, too.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked by wayamy27narf: PhoneSexGold! This might be beyond where the story is, but what happens when Belle encourages Ron to take a call while Belle is in the room? Also, Hi, hello there.
> 
>  
> 
> (This takes place way, way in the future, obviously)

“You gonna answer that?” Belle asked, looking up at him from where she was resting her head on his lap.

He shook his head. “Nope. I told them I wasn’t working this evening. Whoever it is can call someone else.”

She smirked up at him, settling on her back now, the movie on the T.V. forgotten entirely. “But they don’t want anyone else. They want you, _Rum_ ,” she said, emphasizing his working name with relish, grabbing one of his shirt buttons and pulling at it. “Go on,” she urged. “I don’t mind. I’ve never seen you on this end of things before.”

“Nothing much to see. Just me yammering out nonsense really,” he sighed, dislodging his girlfriend while he picked up the phone. “M’not really mentally up for this,” he warned. “Poor lass will be wasting her money.”

Belle rolled off his lap and leaned up to whisper in his ear, “You’re worth every penny, gorgeous. Now make that other woman come so we can get back to our movie.” She stood up from the couch and padded to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water for him. He’d told her before how thirsty he got simply talking and that he would have a pitcher of water and a glass on hand during his work nights.

He rolled his eyes as he answered, watching Belle’s ass as she sauntered away, her hips deliberately rolling seductively. “Hello, this is Rum,” he began, his voice already pitched low and deep. “How may I be of service?”

It had taken him weeks to come up with an answering line that he felt suited his style. Every phone operator had a different greeting. Some opened up with blatant sex remarks, others preferred to get names and details of the caller first before getting down to the business of pleasure. Ron had once read an article that claimed women fantasized a lot more about men doing things _for_ them instead of _to_ them and when he connected that fact with his new job, his opener just clicked. It was a mixture of the two depending on how you said it.

Belle came back, a glass of water in her hand, which she handed to him with a wink, then she grabbed her book from the coffee table and moved to the arm chair, scooting back to get comfortable. She motioned to him with one hand, international sign language for “get to the phone sex already,” then flipped open her book and immersed herself in the story.

He quietly spoke to his client in a soft, crooning voice, taking down notes as he went along. The details were important, especially the name they wanted to go by and the fantasy they were calling for. This evening’s caller wasn’t much different from any other client. Once she got an earful of his accent (and he still couldn’t figure out why Americans had such a fetish for it) she immediately wanted him to call her _Sassenach_ , which didn’t mean what she probably thought it meant, and he had to give a description of his plaid. Not a problem when Belle was there in front of him wearing a soft flannel checked shirt. He rolled his r’s and dragged out the accent for all he was worth, painting the colors for her in vivid detail, a fond smile on his face at Belle’s obliviousness.

“I would lay you down in the heather on a warm summer day,” he purred, the arm holding the phone propped up on the armrest as he watched Belle turn another page. “The rolling hills of the high country at your feet as I undo your corset, pulling the laces out with my teeth.”

An unholy snickering sound emerged from between the pressed lips of his girlfriend. It seemed she wasn’t as oblivious as she would have him believe. She glanced up at him from her book, a knowing look that spoke volumes, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth as she tried to keep it together. She was laughing at him. As well she might since she knew all about his childhood spent in the slums of Glasgow, nary a loch in sight and the closest he got to the Highlands were the posters advertising weekend coach tours.

He shook his head and held a finger to his smirking lips, returning his attention back to the caller. “Aye, Sassenach, you can call me Jamie,” he said, plainly ignoring the way Belle’s shoulders shook even more.

He tossed a couch pillow at her, smacking her against the head with it. _Be quiet_ , he mouthed, smirking at her shocked look. At the very least she could use it to muffle her laughter and he could get through this call without having to explain what the cackling sounds in the background were. He didn’t think he could pass it off as his horse.

After that Belle seemed to settle down with her book and he got down to business, verbally recreating the wedding night scene from Outlander (something he’d watched on YouTube and memorized after he got at least fifteen callers in a row wanting the same experience). Every so often Belle would glance up at him in amusement while he spoke, but she kept quiet, squirming in her seat a bit when he got to a juicy detail. Soon, she stopped reading altogether as her eyes began to glaze over and that smirk was replaced with a softer smile that just curled the ends of her pink lips. She was beautiful.

He knew he was on the right track when her book was set aside without a thought and her hand snuck lower, skimming her belly with light, questing fingers.

He nearly stuttered to a stop, but he gamely recovered without his caller knowing anything was going on. The script changed, then, as he watched Belle dip her hands into the waistband of her shorts, not even bothering to unzip. The wedding night forgotten, he told Belle what he wanted to do to her, barely remembering that he had a client on the other end.

“Your sweet pussy is so fucking delicious. I love stroking my rough fingers against your petal-soft folds, watching your face as you grind against my hand. You fit around me as if the stars made you for me.”

Belle gasped, a soft noise that only he could hear in his apartment, her hips bucking and her fingers moving furiously as he spoke to her, letting his words flow over her, watching the effect his voice had on her first hand. He was getting hard watching her, a privilege he’d never been granted before. She was biting her bottom lip in an effort to keep from being too loud, but her moans rang out as clear as a bell to him, urging him to heighten the experience for her, bringing out his entire arsenal of words to get her to shatter for him.

At last, Belle came, silent and straining against her hand, her hair sticking to her damp forehead and flushed cheeks. Immediately she fell back in the chair, boneless and spent and breathing hard.

Gold was left speechless at the sight of her, the phone hanging limp against his ear and his mouth hanging open, his own breath a ragged mistral that burned his lungs.

“Oh God, yes! Fuck!”

It was only then that he remembered that he was working and he quickly finished the call, hanging up as decently allowable. “I should charge you for that,” he said once he turned the phone off and flung over his shoulder.

She smirked at him, but her eyes were still dreamy as she lifted her head. “I should charge you for the show,” she retorted, getting up to stand in front of him on shaking legs.

“Worth every penny,” he told her, repeating her words back at her, pulling her into his lap to kiss at her neck.

“I don’t know what I was doing with that whole wizard thing. I should have asked for the Highlander instead,” she mumbled into his hair.

“Noooooooooooooooooo,” he grumbled and he wasn’t even ashamed at the whine in his voice, resting his head on her shoulder. “No. I’m sick of the Highlander. I want to be your wizard.”

“You are my wizard,” she reassured him. “But you can be my Highlander, too,”  she said, playfully.

He pulled away from her to look into her eyes. “Fine,” he said. “But only if you play at being Crocodile Dundee.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What? No, that’s not even—”

“Nope,” he said firmly, his fingers trailing down her sides until he found a sensitive spot sending her into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “If I have to act the stereotype so do you.”

She squirmed, trying to get away from his fingers, but he was too quick and had the advantage of surprise on her. “But—”

His fingers tickled her mercilessly. “I’ll even get you a knife,” he offered. “And one of those hats.”

She screamed as he tickled her mercilessly, wriggling and thrashing until she cried out, “Stop!”

He immediately gave up, rubbing at her sides to sooth at her sensitized skin.

“Okay,” she said, finally, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes as she turned to look at him. “I’ll do it, but _you_ have to be the crocodile.”


End file.
